Trial and Error
by Kiyuzanova
Summary: POST SCORPIA RISING, SPOILERS. Alex returns to London after his mission, a vastly different person from before. To become the best, he goes to the men with the speed, the aggression and the surprise. The elite Special Air Service; the SAS.
1. Failure of the Worst Kind

**A/N: **I know the end of Scorpia Rising was brilliant. It was probably the best thing to do. But it didn't stop the fangirl part of me raging at Sabina and Alex's relationship (I don't hate her, just the fact that they like each other lol) and since the writer part of me had already been considering a realistic SAS story, this story is now born.

This is AU- Alex didn't go to America at the end of the book. Slight oocness in this chapter because him going would've been the most IC thing - I had to snip a few sanity strings, unfortunately. Also, like I said, spoilers ahoy. (And, fear the attempt at copying AH's style! xD)

Big massive awesometastical thanks go to **Crimson Cupcake**, for reading over this chapter :3

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><p><strong>Trial and Error<strong> by Kiyuzanova

Chapter One: Failure of the Worst Kind

Leaning against the window, the fair-haired teen shook himself from sleep. Around him, stewards bustled around the too-white cabin, hurriedly discussing with passengers as they completed each check. Routine. The seatbelt sign lit up to his side and the plane lurched forward for descent.

Alex Rider took no notice, just trying to shake the memories from his mind. It was always the same dream, for him.

_Jack._

She hadn't been on the screen this time. Instead he'd been thrown in the stony cell with her, watching as she scraped away the sandy mortar. His dream-self screamed for her to stop; to warn her about the dangers ahead.

Not one noise would leave him.

The rest of the dream remained the same. She'd knock out the guard. Julius would press the button, detonating the explosives hidden in the escape vehicle.

Alex clutched his head. Of course, those had been the events from that night. Razim just using him to test the boundaries of emotional pain. He and Jack blindly strode in, underestimating Scorpia and their desire for revenge.

And why was it that _Alex _always pressed the button, every time he tried to reach for the memory?

He knew she could've been saved. He should have warned her not to escape. If only he realized Scorpia's trap sooner. He shouldn't have gone and sought after them. Heck, if he really wanted to trace back that far then he shouldn't have interfered with Damian Cray and he shouldn't have let MI6 boss him around in the first place.

Should've, could've. Alex sighed. It wasn't as if he was able to go back on any of his decisions, and he wouldn't have anyway. If he didn't interfere with Cray's plans, then several countries would be off the map. If he never listened to MI6 for the Stormbreaker incident, then he'd probably be dead from the R-5 virus. If that didn't kill him, Invisible Sword would.

Alex suddenly realised how many missions he'd succeeded at in the past. This time he'd been overconfident. He'd just let Jack come with him to a location Scorpia was interested in, and he should've realized the danger before.

It was all his fault Jack was dead. Screw shooting Julius and destroying Razim's plans; his mission had ended with his failure. Maybe he should have killed himself instead of his doppelganger. Alex Rider died by face that day, after all.

The fuselage under his feet shook and shuddered, signalling the plane's landing. Instinctively, Alex glanced out the window to see where they were, but ended up staring at a curtain of rain. In London, rain falling so heavily wasn't a common occurrence in late-May. It was something that seemed more suited to long and dreary October days instead.

Even nature decided to mirror the battle with his manic counterpart, both days ending in a numbing downpour.

The Boeing 757-200 came to a stop, and Alex didn't have to wait long until they allowed him to leave. The CIA were understandably uneasy about letting him leave Cairo alone, but they'd obliged; probably after putting some people onboard. Though, Alex hadn't had the time to appreciate the benefits of business class in the four and a half hour flight, too busy trying to get some solid rest.

He bypassed the baggage collection area and as a result became one of the first people to pass immigration. They gave him a few odd looks as he tucked his passport back into his pocket. Those were expected, since he was so young and his passport had so many stamps in it. They'd probably assume he was a jetsetting kid with parents rich enough for him to go to a country and back in the same day.

He'd let them draw their own conclusions, it didn't matter.

* * *

><p>Alex didn't know why he ended up in front of the Royal and General. He'd just gotten on a black cab and asked the driver to take him to a street near his house (you could never be too careful), before paying the man with the Euros he'd been given just in case.<p>

But instead of going home – _how was it a home, when Jack wasn't there anymore? –_ he'd ended up backtracking to the nearest station. From there, he'd absently taken the tube and arrived at the very place he wanted to avoid. Travelling on autopilot did possess its flaws, even if burying his analytical side shut up the never ending stream of _should've, could've, would've_.

At least the rain'd stopped, though the overcast skies still remained.

The building towered over him, as always. Tall and antique, the large Union Jack had been stored in order to protect it from the rain. Today of all days it seemed to loom more menacing, mocking Alex Rider's first failure. The failure of the worst kind.

"Alex?"

Alex turned around to see Mrs Jones walking out from the building. Of course, their security cameras would have picked him up. Briefly, his instincts muttered that something changed about her, but he couldn't place it. But the faint wisps of peppermint were still around her and she carried herself with the grace of the Deputy Head, so he ignored it for the time being.

She spoke again. "What are you doing here?"

_Nothing_, he felt himself think. But what he said was, "Isn't the front door insecure?"

Mrs Jones glanced at him, trying to gauge his intention. "No. But Scorpia have disbanded after three humiliating failures in a row, so the risks have lowered greatly."

He nodded, acknowledging the statement though he couldn't care less. Scorpia had taken everything away from him, and the only thing he had left was Alex Rider, the failure.

"—You are no longer an agent," Mrs Jones' voice broke into his thoughts. "You are free to do what you wish, and there is no need for you to come to the bank, Alex."

"What..?"

"We've shelved your file, Alex. After all the life-threatening missions you've been on in the last year and a half, it is immoral to continue exploiting a child."

Alex bristled. "That hasn't stopped you before, has it? It's because I failed that mission in Cairo, isn't it?"

"On the contrary, the lives you saved—"

"I still couldn't save the life of the person closest to me, could I?"

"You—"

"Give me another mission." The voice that came out of him didn't belong to a fifteen year old anymore. "If you're going to end up giving me one later, you might as well give it to me now. I'll show you that I can still succeed."

The traitorous, analytical part of him knew why he wanted it. Like it or not, spying had become _expected_, one of the constants in his life. He was wrong during the downtime before the shooting at his school; he hadn't gotten used to the lack of assignments, he'd just been stuck in a dream he hadn't left.

Mrs Jones shook her head. "We don't doubt that, Alex. And besides, you aren't suited for the missions available at this time."

"_Make me suited, then!_ Teach me, train me, whatever—"

She pursed her lips.

"Let's continue this discussion inside."

Alex nodded once, and followed her as they entered. He committed the route to memory without even a second's thought. Past the brown marble floor and the leather sofas, past the row of clocks against the wall, the two entered a smaller elevator hidden near the three visible from the lobby. It was marked along the top from G to 3 and seemed rarely-used.

Mrs Jones removed her right glove before pressing the call button with her index finger. The elevator that arrived bragged the same buttons, G to 3, but soon enough a metal cover slipped open and revealed the switches for floors 4 to 19.

When the door pinged open for floor seventeen, Alex finally pinpointed what was so off around his guide.

"Blunt's retired, isn't he?" He asked. Though it hadn't been so noticeable outside the building, her gait now excluded more command than it did before.

"Yes, he is," she replied with the slightest inflection of surprise. "How did you know?"

"Byrne said he was going out."

The two came to a stop before a dark, elegant door. A silver plate attached to the side possessed its number – 1709. There was no keyhole or handle against the wood, but Mrs Jones just placed her palm against it. Not a second later a small, unlocking _schnick_ resounded and the door slid out of the way.

Inside, the room looked like any other office. It could have been chosen from another building, or even from the other side of the world. And yet, Alex somehow knew that the drawn curtains were just to create the illusion of windows, and that the area would have been the hardest to snipe into from the entire building.

She took the leather chair on the other side, and gestured for him to take a seat. Alex hesitated. But he couldn't help but rethink his decision once he'd sat down, since the wide desk added an unwelcome professionalism to their conversation.

"Alex," Mrs Jones began. "We can't train you."

"But last year—"

"We do not have the facilities needed." When he opened his mouth, she cut across. "Before the Stormbreaker incident, we had you training with the SAS at Brecon Beacons. This is no longer a viable option, as all of the troops are in the later stages of their training."

Alex frowned. "Aren't there any other places I could go?"

"Of course."

"Then let me—"

"Their training techniques are not at the SAS's standard." Mrs Jones interrupted again. "Please leave, Alex. There is nothing more for you to do."

Alex couldn't help the sinking feeling in his stomach. His failure had gone unspoken already for long enough, and to hear it only increased his guilt. He wanted to leave, he really did, but his body wouldn't move. It was as if his bones had been switched out for lead. The inability to move only reminded him of his dream.

Mrs Jones just kept looking at him in something akin to...pity?

"—I'm sure Miss Starbright wouldn't have wanted to see you here."

If Alex had been having second thoughts, those were all gone. He couldn't explain why one moment he felt like giving up, a fiery streak of determination in the next. Sure, the despair was still there in the corner of his mind, but it had been overshadowed.

Somehow, Alex knew exactly what he wanted to do.

Leaning forward and gripping his hands against the edge of the desk, he was pretty sure that his eyes blazed.

"Let me join the SAS," he said.

Mrs Jones frowned. "That's impossible. The Regiment only takes people from the armed, air and naval forces—"

"Doesn't matter. You got me in training before."

"—and furthermore," she continued, "Selection is long and arduous. As I said, Miss Starbright would not have wanted you to be here."

Alex clenched his jaw. "Don't bring Jack into this. I failed her in Cairo, you know? _I failed._ If there's anyone who knows what she would have wanted, it's me. And I know she wouldn't have wanted me going off into more danger, but you know what? If I don't get more training, then I'm going to end up getting more people killed."

"Alex—"

"You can say you've shelved my file or something all you like, but I know you'll just end up pulling me into another mission eventually and I'm _not_ going to fail again if I can help it. Heck, I'm practically _asking_ for you to use me. That's what you've wanted all this time, right?"

"Listen, Alex—"

Vehemently, he shook his head. From her tone, he could tell that she'd been intending to mention Jack again. "Don't try it. I wouldn't be here asking you this if I didn't want to do it. Why can't you let me do what you want for once? Jack... would understand."

Yes; Jack would have understood, but it didn't dissipate the ghostly impression of betrayal in his heart. But Mrs Jones either didn't notice the pained grimace or the slight pause, only getting up to open one of the filing cabinets. From it, she extracted a single file before returning to her seat. A few terse, painful minutes passed, filled with anxiety on Alex's half and a composed sorting of papers on the other.

But finally, Mrs Jones looked up again, her eyes unreadable.

"SAS Selection isn't anything to sneeze at, as there is a ninety-seven percent fail rate. Your previous training only comprised of about a third of the actual regime. Are you really sure about your decision?"

Alex nodded.

"Very well. We will provide you with additional training for the Winter Selection, since it's unlikely that you'll be ready by July—"

"July." Alex repeated. "I'll take it in July."

"But one month is nowhere near enough—"

"I'll make it enough," he stated.

Hesitantly, Mrs Jones conceded.

"Then, if you insist." A few papers were shuffled again. "As I said, we will provide you with preliminary training to increase your stamina. One of our former-SAS agents will be in charge. Any issues?"

He shook his head. "No. Who is it?"

Somehow, just somehow, a small part of the old Alex knew he never should have asked.

* * *

><p>As Alex reached the end marker, he almost collapsed. Unfortunately, any chances of getting any rest were soon gone as Ben waved him on again. So, there was nothing to do but keep going.<p>

He bit his lip, unable to sigh. His chest hurt. His legs burned. He'd thought himself fit, what with all the sports he did, but those still weren't enough.

But he had to keep going. He couldn't stop, not now.

It had been five days since he arrived in Wales. That had been when he'd been reunited with Ben Daniels, one of the SAS men he'd formerly trained with and a man once referred to as Fox.

Alex didn't think it would be easy. In fact, he'd almost been expecting it when Ben had them run the mile east from the small town of Crickhowell in Powys to Curt-y-Gollen, training base of the British Army, instead of taking a car. And regarding the training schedule, he wasn't disappointed. Though Ben had left the SAS, he still knew their techniques from being drilled day after day. He wasn't a substitute for an actual instructor, but he knew enough of what would be needed.

So, Alex hadn't been surprised when the larger man declared that the schedule involved endless hours of drills, no matter the weather. In the morning and during most of the day it would be runs and stamina, and if the skies deteriorated so much that they needed more than a single, weak flashlight, the two would quickly seek shelter under the edge of a nearby building and discuss tactics and strategy in hushed tones.

Most nights they camped in sleeping bags and the bare minimum of equipment, eating the tasteless food Ben scrounged up for each of their meals. During those times, Alex learnt that Ben had once been part of the navy. He'd been from the lucky few who passed Selection on their first attempt, but the SAS man chalked it up to his cousin's insider tips and assistance.

Alex knew his decision had been rash and began to double-think more and more with every passing day, but he wouldn't give up. He couldn't give up. Ian taught him to be a man of his word, and he would train for his and Jack's sakes. For the sake of every death that could have been avoided if he'd taken the proper training before.

When he finally stumbled through the last of the next lap, Ben waved to mark the end of the exercise. Alex sighed with relief. In fact, his legs felt so asleep from the build-up of training he nearly collapsed if the SAS man didn't catch him in time.

"You right, Alex?" Ben asked. To Alex's weak nod, his eyes softened. "Sorry; I shouldn't have pushed you so hard."

"No..." Alex muttered. "Not hard."

Ben rolled his eyes, the action strange against his squarish features. "You can barely stand. But hurry up and cool down—"

"—don't want my muscles to seize, I know."

His tired comment was replied with a smile, before the sound of a loud curse caught his attention. Some thirty metres away a group of men mainly wearing black shirts and worn jeans, a few actually wearing camouflage, ran around with rifles in hand. The source of the cry couldn't have been more obvious; one of the soldiers had been ambushed in the middle of the exercise. Probably, he'd gotten distracted with Alex's training.

After all, his presence wasn't a closely guarded secret, and he'd already spotted several soldiers watching him from afar.

Alex then couldn't help noticing one of the soldiers hidden behind a block fumble as he reloaded his rifle. The guy wasn't doing too much of a good job, getting the angles wrong and jamming the magazine in all the wrong directions.

"Amateurs," Ben scoffed. "Alex, if you make the cut, learn how to lock the magazine."

Alex shrugged. "Glad to see you have so much faith in me."

"Though," the older man continued, ignoring the interruption. "Since this is an army base and all, I wonder if we can borrow one of the rooms. Have you used a gun before?"

Alex returned with a non-committal shrug. He hadn't done any of the firearms training with K-Unit, and didn't know if he wanted to share information about Scorpia yet. "Some," he answered vaguely.

"Great. It'll be a right change of pace."

"If you call shooting things up a change of pace."

Ben sighed and threw his hands in the air, a show of resignation. Sometimes he didn't know how to deal with the kid, but at least it was more like his usual self.

Times like these, he wondered why he joined MI6 after all.

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><p><strong>AN: **This chapter is really just me testing the waters for interest. (I prefer to write crossovers, I know people are interested in reading and it gives me a guaranteed audience.)

So, are you in? :D


	2. Reunions and Alexi

**A/N: **Okay. Officially, this has got to be the best fandom on FFN. 31 reviews? Furthermore, a 31:34:566 review-alert-hits ratio? And with approximately 45% of the reviews filled with people taking the time to say _why_ they liked the story instead of telling me to update soon? I love you all, and though this story is just about the most tiring thing I've written, it's definitely worth it.

...by the way, I forgot to mention that I've never been anywhere in Europe or the Americas. So, um. Yeah.

Also. I've put up a **poll** for you guys to decide whether you want Alex to pass Selection or fail - I've got a plot for each of them. Both can be pulled off reasonably believably, so there's no issue there.

**Important: SIS = MI6 **(MI6's actual name is the Secret Intelligence Service, or SIS. MI6 is colloquial.)

Massive, massive wonderful superexponentiallyfabulous thanks go out to **kyokugen** for beta'ing for me! (Welcome back, Maxy!) The wonderful **Crimson Cupcake** helped be my martial-arts checker too, so thanks as well~!

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><p><strong>Trial and Error<strong> by Kiyuzanova

Chapter Two: Reunions and Alexi

As the silver Vauxhall Astra J/D drove through the roads out of Brecon, Alex felt his stomach churn. He snuck a glance in the direction of the MI6 representative at the wheel. It wasn't someone he recognized, but the signature dark suit and sunglasses weren't helping his nerves.

Soon enough, the houses along the streets disappeared, and soon wide, green plains were all that were visible around them. They'd entered the region of Mynydd Epynt, commonly referred to as Yr-Epynt. Stationed in the upper part of mid-Wales, Yr-Epynt lay in the heart of the Sennybridge Training Area, SENTA. Despite its name, SENTA was not actually located in Sennybridge but to the north. Eighteen hectares of mainly blanket bog and grass with a few stream valleys in between, it was the third largest military training area in the UK.

It also happened to be the location for the SAS Selection.

From the other front seat, Ben turned around to face him. "How're you feeling?"

Alex shrugged. Truthfully, though he was nervous, the other part of him was fired up and ready to go. "Alright, I guess."

Ben nodded, and tossed a small pouch to his direction. "Take this."

He'd clearly wanted to say more, but the Astra chose that moment to veer off the main road. They passed a rather stark building labelled 'Visitors/Conservation Centre' and turned once more before coming to a stop. The whirr of the engine cut off, and Alex heard a slight jingle when the representative pocketed the keys. With a meaningful stare the man stepped out of the car, and Alex made to follow suit when he noticed the other occupant hadn't moved.

"What about you?" Alex asked.

The SAS man shook his head. "I've been ordered to stay here. Keep yourself fit, and use your time wisely."

Alex nodded awkwardly. "Thanks."

"No problem."

The representative cleared his throat, and Alex quickly jumped out. He closed the door behind him. In the distance, he noticed a red flag and recalled one of the road signs:

_Military Firing Range_

_When red flags or lights are displayed do not leave the public road except for information centres marked._

He pulled himself away when he heard muttering, and tried to ignore the stares from a group of other soldiers coming in. Doubtless they were also vying for a place, and the representative beside him attracted a lot of attention. A small distance away, the representative exchanged a few, quick words with what looked like the man in charge of Selection. Probably a Sergeant, Alex reckoned since the symbols on the guy's jacket matched up to the ones in memory.

He didn't have much longer to dwell on it when the representative nodded and stepped aside. The Sergeant moved forward, and Alex couldn't help but notice that one of his eyebrows had been burnt off, as well as a section of his hair.

"Rider, are you?" The man's voice suited his appearance: sour, deep, rough and gravelly. "I've no clue what SIS is thinking and you can be sure that I'm goddamned pissed. But understand that we won't compromise just because you're four years younger than everyone else here, you hear?"

Alex nodded. "Yes, sir." He'd long learnt that fewer words were better when concerning the military.

"Good. Now head to the stores, I don't have all day."

Alex nodded again, and with one last glance in the MI6 representative's direction he headed off toward the directed storeroom. He and the group of soldiers seemed to make it just in time, since the Quartermaster guarding the door gestured when they'd stopped.

There hadn't been much noise from the recruits but if they hadn't been paying attention they definitely were now.

"During your stay, you will be provided with all the standard gear and equipment you need." The Quartermaster told them. "If the gear doesn't fit you, too bad. When you've been deployed and need another pair of boots you'll only have our army-issue ones to deal with and you sure aren't as hell going to carry another pair with you.

"Up in the hills, all the weight in your bergen must be weight that's usable; water, food, spare clothes. There's no more using weights anymore, you're expected to survive and you will survive. You know what happens if you don't survive?"

Nobody took the bait. The corner of the Quartermaster's mouth pulled.

"It's simple: if you don't survive in the SAS, you die."

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><p>Alex hefted the bergen and sleeping bag in his arms, feeling the water bottles hit the survival kit inside. The Quartermaster, after his introductory speech, had let them collect the gear they would be using. Then the recruits had been directed toward a pin-up sheet that listed each of their names of in alphabetical order, and the room they were assigned.<p>

Of the 187 recruits vying for a position, Alex's name had been the 119th name down the list.

The troop shelter they were to sleep in was only about a minute or so's walk from the stores. It had a slate blue roof and whitewashed walls that looked like they were painted over every few years. Like all the other landmarks in the SENTA, the only view in all 360 directions seemed to be the never ending grassy plains, divided only by trees and criss-crossing roads.

When Alex finally arrived at Room Three, he was greeted with a sleeping layout eerily similar to K-Unit's quarters at Brecon Beacons. The only difference in Room Three was that there were eight beds rather than four, and that people were still filing in. Alex went and claimed the bunk furthest away from the door. He dumped his cooker and the twenty-four hour rations on it. Afterwards, he didn't feel like unpacking so he turned around to watch the other men.

Once all eight were accounted for, Alex couldn't help but compare himself to the rest of them. Though there was one smaller than him, the man's knotted muscles made up for his size. The rest were all taller, and though they weren't as muscled as a fighter they were still extremely well-trained soldiers. Compared to their years of experience, Alex only did football and rowing, spent a week in the Welsh mountains and a few more at Malagosto.

Somehow, Alex knew that the feeling of foreboding that rushed through him wouldn't be the last.

One or two men left the room after they unpacked, and left after a cursory glance around the room. Alex wasn't surprised when their eyes lingered on him longer than everyone else, but they seemed to be more interested in guarding their own things and checking what other people had brought. Alex was too; some of them had the strangest collection of energy drinks, snack bars, foot oil, and one even had a pack of beer. He hadn't brought anything of his own except for the essentials.

Suddenly, he recalled Ben's pouch but before he could reach it one of the soldiers spoke first.

" 'ey, you."

Alex looked up to see two men standing there, both from the group of soldiers he'd seen earlier. The one who'd spoken stood a fraction shorter than the other, with dark, close-cropped hair and squinty eyes as if he were constantly looking near the sun. The eyes and voice were familiar somehow, and it took a moment before Alex identified why.

"You were one of the Green Jackets from RTI!"

Alex's memory had been correct. The man's name was Joshua Hall, otherwise known as Finn. He hadn't been the most studious child, but made up for it in his aggressiveness and attitude. In his school days, he called himself 'Finn the Winner'. When he was seventeen he'd applied for the army and ended up in the Royal Green Jackets. Whilst in deployment, an SAS troop was commissioned to bring them supplies. Finn had thought they were the coolest guys in the world and asked about Selection. 'If you train hard,' the SAS man had told him, 'Selection is a piece of cake. But if you fail, you won't get another shot.'

Come December, Finn had applied and failed almost immediately. He promptly spent the next year and a half dissing the Service, until he'd been told that applicants had two chances to join and not one.

To Alex's outburst, Finn's friend just looked clueless, whilst the man frowned. "I thought I recognized you," he said, and Alex almost cringed at the strength of his Yorkshire accent. "Cub, 'ent it? Why're you here at Selection if you're already in the Regiment?"

With those words, Alex found himself at the centre of attention. The previously silent room broke into murmurs.

"_He passed Selection?"_

"_Shit! There go my chances!"_

"_How old is he anyway?"_

Alex groaned. The Green Jackets had been called to run the Resistance To Interrogation component from his previous SAS training. They'd questioned him and the rest of K-Unit before throwing them inside a room, and he'd only gotten them out by climbing through a sewer. He really shouldn't have blurted it at all.

Then a realization hit him: after he'd climbed through the sewer, he'd sent them flying off the cliff and into the lake.

Oops.

Finn frowned at him just as Alex came to the conclusion. "You the one to send us off the cliff too?"

"Yeah. What about it?" There was no point denying it now.

"Listen 'ere, kid." He warned, eyes narrowing further. Then he swaggered forward and pointed a finger in Alex's face. "I've no clue what you're doing here or even what y're up to, but know this: Finn don't forget the bones you broke' on his friends. And Finn won't forgive."

_Scorpia don't forgive, Scorpia don't forget,_ Alex thought instead. Hearing the normally dangerous threat being butchered and spoken in Tyke didn't help assert the situation as Finn probably hoped. Unknowing of this, the man just left the room. His friend followed.

"Were you in the SAS?" A voice to his left asked curiously.

Alex looked around to see a man who had to be in his twenties. He had surprisingly boyish looks, as if he'd started puberty but changed his mind about it halfway. "Only for a while."

"How did you get through Selection?"

"There were...special circumstances, so I didn't go through the...usual route," admitted Alex. "I was only there to train for ten days."

The other guy whistled. "That's cool." But by the look on his face, Alex knew he was probably considering a rich background or parents with influential positions. "I'm Alex, but they all call me Al. You?"

"Alex."

Al raised his eyebrow. "What a coincidence, having two Alexes in the same room. Alexi, maybe." He tapped his finger idly. "Not an Alexander?"

"No."

Al shrugged, and there was something about his amicable personality compared to the the tension amongst the rest of the soldiers that drew Alex to him.

"Where're you from?" Al asked.

By his tone, Alex could tell he was referring to the armed forces and not his hometown. He wondered briefly what to say, but since neither Mrs Jones nor the MI6 representative informed him what to do he opted for the truth. "I never went."

"How'd you get into Selection, then?"

"Special...circumstances." He was really getting sick of those words. Al's other eyebrow went up and Alex knew he was being prompted. "They're...classified."

"I see." Al said simply. There was something in his expression that had changed into suspicion, but luckily for Alex it didn't seem to go beyond that. "Good luck."

"Likewise."

If Al had heard him, he didn't show it. Alex groaned; he'd known that the other soldiers wouldn't have treated him as well. He just hadn't expected it to be so soon.

Trying to distract himself, Alex left the room. There were a few men in the halls, idling and some murmuring to one another in low tones. He hadn't noticed it earlier, but not many people wore their military uniform. Most of them, like himself, just chose dark shirts and jeans. Comfortable and easy to move in.

He didn't pass any of the uniformed Green Jackets in the hallway. But he did look into the loud noises from Room Nine, and found just about all of them lounging around inside. A radio was on in the corner, with the sound turned up high. Finn had been in the centre of the lot, telling a tale about some romantic pursuit or other.

Once outside the troop shelter, Alex allowed himself to stretch his limbs. He'd been told by Ben about SENTA, though he knew the man hadn't been trained there. Nineteen by eight kilometres, Ben'd said. But like all things of large scales it wasn't easy to envision just how big it was until it was actually seen. Nineteen kilometres would've been a little over two hours at a jog. Alex quashed his stirring curiosity at just what SENTA could possibly contain. The red flags were still up, and it was unsafe to go any further.

Footsteps approached him, the distinct noises of combat boots against the ground. He turned around to see one of the Green Jackets. Other than the man's face, the sheer height easily tipped Alex off that this was one he hadn't met before.

"Why are you here?" The man asked.

"I—"

"Why are you here?" The man repeated. "How old are you?"

Alex frowned. The man was getting aggressive for no reason at all. "I don't see why you need to know."

"The SAS isn't a place for kids."

"I know that."

"Word is you've no military training."

Alex's frown deepened. "So what?"

"_So_," The man drawled, "how the heck did you get in? Rich parents paid for you?"

"That's none of your business."

"_Answer me!_"

Alex sensed the man tensing his muscles in preparation to strike before he visibly saw any change. Immediately, he slid into the forward leaning stance he'd been drilled in karate over and over again; legs one shoulder width apart and right leg about one and a half behind. As his opponent's easy 6'2" seemed to be from sacrificing muscle mass for height, Alex knew that such appearances were easily deceiving. As a result he kept himself lower than his preferred height, knowing that every bit of power and stability would be necessary.

However, to his surprise, the man didn't strike. Instead, he relaxed. Alex didn't move, since it could have easily been a distraction.

"Reflexes," the man muttered. Then louder, "Martial arts won't help you in the SAS."

He paused, considering something.

"Alright," he said finally. "Tell you what: I won't ask how you got in. But there's just one thing I want to know."

"What?"

"What made you go for the SAS?"

"I—"

"You probably haven't realized it yet, but it's a commitment for life. People spend years training for Selection. After Selection, it's work in life-threatening situations. If you somehow live until your thirties, you'll have state secrets to protect. It's impossible to go back to a normal life. Why'd you come back, Cub?"

There was almost a strange sort of pause as Alex tried to digest the information.

"Do I know you?" he asked.

"It's Monitor," Monitor said. "From K—I was in L-Unit when you were still in training. Later got transferred to K."

"But K didn't train with L."

Monitor rolled his eyes. "That's because we were on strip duty. We crossed paths a few times in the mess hall. Sorry if you didn't notice, but I piloted in France."

Alex nodded. Strip duty was what soldiers referred to the standby phase, in which they were ready on-call to instantly respond to any emergency anywhere in the world. And in France...he paled when he remembered Point Blanc, and Wolf's troop. Wolf must have gotten transferred to L-Unit. Alex hadn't bothered looking too closely at anyone other than his former leader.

"Why are you here, then?"

"I'm on leave."

"..._Here?_"

A shrug. "Got bored. Decided to see if any of the new guys are any good, so I found my old uniform. You won't believe how the Green Jackets like to stick together. Plus, Finn knows me and I just said I quit the Light Infantry 'cause I failed Selection and got sick of the whole thing."

Alex had to admit it was a reasonable explanation. But there was just one small thing that bothered him.

"You're being awfully nice to 'Double 0 Nothing'."

A malicious grin grew on Monitor's face. "Eagle and I made a bet."

Something about the way he said it changed Alex's mind. "I don't think I want to know."

"You don't." Monitor looked like he wanted to say something else. Before he did, his expression changed a few more times. "So like I said. Think carefully about joining."

Alex nodded again, and Monitor headed back to the shelter. An eerie, echoey silence fell over him when the man was gone. It left him as the only person outside.

Why _was _he there? Alex's thoughts echoed Monitor's words. Why, of all places did he go to the SAS for training?

Of course, it had seemed like a wonderful idea when he'd been in the Royal and General. And then he'd forgotten as he trained his endurance and stamina in his month with Ben. Those weeks spent doing nothing but runs in Curt-y-Gollen, an army base that had been both half-empty and about to close down. That was probably why MI6 could send him.

But, Alex thought, that had only been the pain he'd gone through just to get _into_ the SAS. What would happen if he passed?

_What would happen if he failed?_

That...no, that wasn't something he could think about. He couldn't turn back now. He'd known what he was getting into when he'd insisted on joining. To turn back would only be breaking his word.

He was fighting in Jack's memory. In the memory of all the others that had died or gotten injured even though they shouldn't have.

If MI6 wanted to use him, then fine. There was nothing in Britain left for him anyway. And how could he show his face before his friends when he'd ultimately been responsible for Jack's death? He'd already been stupid enough to draw Sabina into his life on Air Force One. A situation like that couldn't—shouldn't—happen to her again.

Alex knew. It didn't matter that the other soldiers had become antagonistic toward him. He would fight on. He would get enough training so that his missions' successes were from skill, and not from luck.

From the building, Monitor turned around and walked away.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Did you notice how I didn't have Alex automatically turning around into a fighter's crouch when he heard Monitor's footsteps? :U

I post updates every now and then on my Profile if you want to know the status of each new chapter, so check it out if you want. Don't forget the poll, it'll decide the fate of the story! :D


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